Wreckleaf: Wreckleaf, #1

By JD Steiner

Seventeen-year-old Nerissa John isn't supposed to exist.

 

Designed as a disposable novelty, her kind was believed to be eliminated years ago. But after a fatal act of self-defense exposes her, the local authorities offer Nerissa and her family a solution: In exchange for their services, they are allowed to live under false identities in the most exclusive place on Earth—the island of Panacea—the lap of luxury for the world's elite traveler.

 

With the opening of the tourist season and the launch of a new island-made product promising health and vitality, Nerissa makes a disturbing discovery. She and her family have become unwitting accomplices in a deadly experiment. Vowing to redeem her past, Nerissa sets out to expose the corrupt entity controlling both her kind and the humans she has grown to love. But what will her blind determination cost? Will she once again do more harm than good?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Stileski
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887160115

Book preview

Preface

I was born a novelty, a disposable toy left to fend for myself. I’m not even supposed to exist, yet I do. And now the whole world can see who I am. No more disguises, no more lies. No one will tell me who I am, ever again.

Everything is about to change. And no matter what the outcome, I will have unchained myself—from my past, from my present, and from a future I didn’t choose. Freedom will be mine.

I’m the lone pebble thrown into glassy water…

Chapter 1

Anastasia

SO THE RUMORS ARE TRUE!

SATURDAY, AUGUST 6 TH

Iwas fourteen years old that summer. Anastasia was sixteen. Everything about her drew me in—her cool demeanor, her magenta hair, the way she flaunted herself. She carried herself with pride and confidence, insisted I do the same, and pushed me to explore the world outside our own.

We are creations of this Universe, Nerissa, not just a product of mankind. We’re exactly as we’re intended to be. Celebrate yourself. She slid her hands along her waist, down to the curve of her hips, and smiled at me. Trust me, it feels good to step into your own power.

It was Saturday, deep in the summer tourist Season, and stories of scouting and acquisition—of-age family members seeking out suitable mates—were plentiful. Anastasia convinced me to swim to Panacea Island with her to do a little scouting trip of our own. Fun practice she called it, so we’d really be prepared when it was our time. But underage trips alone from our island home of Albatross to Panacea were forbidden.

I was hesitant at first. But I eventually accepted her offer, along with her foolish naiveté. As we swam past the halfway point, my nerves turned to excitement. Breaking the rules suddenly became seductive and undeniable.

We spent the day exploring the island, relaxing in the happy summer vibe. Panacea, the ultimate playground for the ultra-wealthy—considered a veritable fountain of youth because of its rare natural resources and incomparable beauty. As the island was incredibly difficult to get to, only the rich could afford Panacea’s exclusive offerings, and because of that, they were pampered like spoiled children. Thanks to Anastasia’s charm and confidence, we fit right in with the pure-humans—no one ever suspecting us of not belonging.

See, Nerissa? Playing human is fun. And why shouldn’t we experience this lifestyle? They’re no better than us.

I could get used to this.

And so you shall… she promised.

Day turned to evening, and we found ourselves outside of Wave, the island’s busiest club. The energy pouring from the building was contagious, only a glimpse of what lie within. But we were underage—they’d never let us enter.

Anastasia and I were about to leave, when we were approached by a group of men.

Good evening, Beauties.

Good evening, gentlemen, Anastasia purred. Mmm… somebody smells good.

Would you care to join us inside?

Anastasia giggled and slid her fingers through her hair. We’d love to join you, but we’re a tiny bit too young to—

Come on, you’re with us, said a sun-burned blond guy in expensive-looking clothes.

We were whisked into the pulsating club with these strangers, abandoning every caution as their money led the way.

The booming music entered my feet and spread itself inside of me. Lights of every color danced above and below. Musky sweat and leather, citrus, flowers, and the smell of alcohol filled my nose. Walking through the hypnotizing crowd of gyrating people—a spectacle of new sensations in a world I never knew existed—triggered unknown parts of myself—an unfamiliar, primal yearning for more.

We found ourselves on the dance floor, fusing into the energy of the crowd. We passed a strong concoction that, despite being disguised in sweet coconut, burned my throat. It didn’t stop me from drinking more—a lot more. Soon the world was spinning and consisted of only what was in front of me, the edges all blurred. I laughed a lot, wondering why it had taken me so long to allow myself this pleasure.

The seven men with whom we had entered this sparkling, fragrant rainbow-explosion had whittled down to four, two dancing with me, two with Anastasia. I didn’t know any of their names, and I didn’t care. Hands were all over me—on my hips, the small of my back, my neck. Then lips and breath. I didn’t mind. The drinks continued, the laughter, the spinning.

A long stretch of dancing in my own small world ended with a song too slow and sweet. I looked up and scanned the crowded floor for Ana but didn’t see her. I focused harder, sure I would eventually spot her. But she had vanished. Her two dance partners were missing as well.

A slight detached panic began to whisper. I ignored it, intoxicated not only by the drinks but by my power over these strangers. Anastasia would pop up any second. But she never did. And I began to grow irritated by my dance team.

Excuse me for a minute! I yelled over the music.

Where are you going? somebody yelled back.

I’m going to look for my friend.

No, don’t leave. We’re just getting started!

I have to go…

That’s okay, the tomato-faced blond hollered; he’d appeared out of nowhere. We’ll help you find her.

I didn’t want their company anymore. Our night needed to come to an end. But I accepted their offer to help. After scouring the club, we exited through a back door leading out onto a terrace and down to a marina.

I think your friend is out here with my buddy. What’s her name again?

It’s Anastasia.

Nice name. I’m sorry, darling, your name?

It’s Nerissa. And yours?

Unusual. Suits you well. You’re kind of special, aren’t you, Nerissa?

Regret was swallowing me. He wasn’t interested in helping me find Anastasia. And he seemed to be getting off on knowing that I realized it.

I come here every summer. So do my buddies, and we’ve never seen you before. Didn’t you say you live here?

I didn’t talk to anybody about myself, or where I lived. I tried to protest, but he wasn’t done.

How old did you say you are?

I didn’t. Are you going to help me? If not, I’ll go. Thank you for the fun night. I turned to leave.

You’re a Water Doll, aren’t you?

Frozen, my heart in my throat, I was unable to respond. I hadn’t heard anybody use that term in a long, long time.

Ah-ha! I knew it. A pretty little Water Doll. He amazed himself, as though he made some scientific world discovery.

I turned to face him and his two drunk friends. What do you want from me? I was calm, neither confirming nor denying his claim.

That fiery little friend of yours has a big mouth. She couldn’t stop bragging about her custom design and superhuman abilities. If we liked how she moved on the dance floor, we’d be blown away by her abilities in the water. She made my buddy some promises with her body language that no warm-blooded man could ever ignore. His sloppy exaggerations were disgusting. I guess the drinks got to her. Or is it the boredom of living without any men?

Go to hell.

So, the rumors are true! He declared. Only in our wildest dreams did anyone imagine Water Dolls still existed, until now. And tonight, you’re mine.

I am not a Water Doll! I detested the nickname. I’m a Dolhuphemale. And I don’t belong to anyone, ever.

He looked like a kid who just saw a unicorn. "Hot damn, I knew it. Doll, you are mine. Period."

I’m only fourteen. Let me leave, please.

Fourteen? No way. He barely stopped to consider. Well, that may be, but you’re more woman than I’ve ever known. And I don’t think anyone will be missing an illegal hybrid posing as a human. Tonight is our night. You play nice, and I’ll make things go okay for you.

I turned and tried to run. Between my awkward feet and my intoxicated state, I wasn’t fast enough.

The sweaty, drunken stranger locked against my back, one arm around my waist, the other at my chest.

Tom’s got a girlfriend! one of his drunk posse yelled.

Show her what it’s like to have a real man, then we’ll show her, too, the other fool slurred.

We know exactly who you are now, little Doll, Tom whispered. "Or should I say, what you are. You can thank Anastasia for that."

Where is she?

She’s fine, Beauty. My buddy is taking good care of her, just like I’ll take care of you.

These monsters, these real men, thought they knew who I was. They knew nothing. It wasn’t the way this night was supposed to end, but it was him or me.

You’re right. Let’s have some fun, I said slowly.

Yes, it’s our night! Tom exclaimed. Now, how about some of that magical weed? What’s it called? Wreckleaf? If you’re real, it must be, too.

Sorry, I don’t have any.

He spun me around, tightening his grip, his sun-bleached brow furled into a deep, angry crease. That’s too bad. He blew out an exaggerated sigh, and I could taste his sticky, rum-scented breath. Okay, maybe on our next date. You and I have a real future together, don’t you think? Sickening laughter contorted his face while his two inebriated cheerleaders stumbled over one another in hysterics.

Let me sing you a song instead. I began to hum.

Tom misunderstood my palpable resolve. That’s my girl, he oozed, glazing over with a lust so twisted, my mouth watered with nausea. God, you’re beautiful. I held his eyes as Tom spoke what he didn’t realize were his last words. Kiss me.

And so I obliged. I pressed my lips against his. He responded aggressively, his sloppy, vile mouth covering mine. I fought back the urge to vomit, and instead delivered the kiss of a lifetime. We lingered, and Tom swayed. When our lips finally parted, his manicured fingertips dug into my flesh, his unfocused eyes searching mine. He tried in vain to form words as confusion spread across his face. For a second, just one second, I felt sorry for him.

Still think you know me? Guess you didn’t know everything, I whispered.

He hit the pier hard, his color draining quickly, his eyes glossing over. Not shocked by their friend’s collapse, the other two howled with laughter.

What an idiot! Tom can’t handle his liquor or his women. It’s my turn, Doll, the one in the pink shorts declared.

Me first, grunted the other stooge.

They had yet to realize their pal was dead. And the last thing they’d want was a turn kissing me. I needed to leave, or they’d have to be next.

My eyes darted from Tom to his friends, then back again. I turned to go, but sudden dizziness made the pier spin. Everything blurred, and in an instant, the air grew thick and heavy.

Breathe, Nerissa, just breathe… you’re okay.

But I couldn’t take a normal breath or control my galloping heart. Darkness shrouded everything, my shock pushing down on me, squeezing harder and harder. Searching for relief, I shut my eyes tight.

From somewhere inside my head, I heard a ticking clock, then my mother’s voice reminding me to trust no one. The faintest familiar melody pulled at me.

I succumbed to the slowing of time. I’m sorry, I whispered.

You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry. Can you swim? The dreamlike question made me giggle, which seemed so out of place.

Yes, of course I can swim. Did I say that out loud?

A sudden, powerful shove launched me off the pier, and I slapped the water hard. My body didn’t respond, and I sank. From behind closed eyes, I observed myself as the world faded away and my poison mouth was cleansed by sharp salt. I was sure it was the end, and all I could wonder was if my mother would be ashamed of me.

Sometime the next day, I woke up on Albatross with my head in my mother’s lap. I don’t remember getting there, and I thought I was dead, or dreaming, at least. She was so tender, so kind, stroking my face and hair, singing a lullaby from my childhood.

Mom?

Yes, I’m here.

Am I dead?

Of course not, she assured.

Tom’s sunburned face flashed in my mind.

Is the nightmare over?

She hesitated, holding her breath. No, Nerissa, she exhaled hard. It’s just the beginning.

A week after the incident at Wave, Anastasia was still missing, presumably turned over to the island’s governing officials. The Dolhuphemale breed was forced out of hiding and ordered off Albatross Island to be integrated back onto Panacea, our breed’s place of origin. The Matriarchs considered refusing to cooperate but knew it would result in total elimination. They would leave no survivors this time. Instead, the Cooperative—the documented act that has enslaved us to pose as pure-humans and serve them in their hedonistic and gluttonous world—was formed between the Panacea Island branch of the First World Government and us.

Three days after the Cooperative was signed and government officials reported her daughter’s unexplained death, Anastasia’s mother, Marja, stepped off a cliff and ended her life.

Chapter 2

Panacea

THIS ISLAND NEVER CEASES TO IMPRESS ME… A TERRIBLE BEAUTY.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 29 TH — Current day, three years later.

W hat are you thinking about? Kendra’s voice pulls me back to the present.

My feet. I lie to my best friend so I don’t have to tell her what I’m really thinking about … again.

What about them?

How ugly they are.

I love our feet. They’re perfect.

I guess I’m not as evolved as you.

That’s right, my Beauty. She settles back on the warm sand and closes her eyes. I envy her peace of mind.

I could blame the hot sun for my sweaty upper lip, for my too-fast heartbeat or fists full of sand. But my mother thinks I suffer from post-traumatic stress. Maybe she’s right. If I can’t find peace here, with Kendra, on such a perfect day … will I ever?

Nerissa, you probably would have been killed. Or worse. My mother likes to remind me.

But I wasn’t. I’m okay.

How can you possibly be okay? You murdered someone.

It’s not like you haven’t.

You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Your skills were not developed, and you weren’t fully trained.

She doesn’t care that I had to kill that human waste. What she’s really trying to say is how disappointed she is that I left witnesses, that I let Anastasia get captured, and that I’m responsible for the discovery of our existence.

I stretch my fingers, and Kendra’s soft, rhythmic breathing returns me to the beach; we call it Our Beach, because it’s inaccessible except to our kind. My gaze gets trapped in her hair, so unlike the blazing copper calamity atop my head. Kendra is an anomaly. None of us are blonde. We’re all born with a shade of red hair. That’s how we were designed, along with the other obvious exaggerations. I’m a walking cliché.

Our beauty is a paradox. I’d give anything to be average. But even though I sometimes think they look frightening, I’ll keep my eyes. My mother says they hold the winter sky, and I’m unique. I must look like my father, because I don’t really resemble her. But I’ll never know. She doesn’t have much memory of him either. That’s what one quick night of romance will do.

I can feel you staring at me, Kendra grumbles.

Go back to sleep.

Nothing is better than the freedom of lazing away a breezy afternoon on the privacy of Our Beach. We crashed on the cashmere sand hours ago, and I could stay forever. But this is the end of these days. The first of the summer tourists have started trickling in. When the rest arrive via zeppelin, the island will be crawling. Year after year, like herded sheep they flock, seeking their salvation in some magic potion or pill or concoction. And belittling those of us who attend to their needs apparently goes hand in hand with their desperate goal of perfection—as though they are the cream rising to the top of their own crystal chalice, their servants the sludge left at the bottom. But their money simply cannot buy the true healing powers of this island and its waters. And no amount will ever mask their entitlement and self-importance.

At work, a typical exchange with a tourist goes something like this:

‘Welcome to Panacea. How may I be of service to you?’

‘I have an itch on my back. Scratch it.’

‘Yes, of course. My pleasure, Beauty.’

‘Yes, it is your pleasure.’

‘How else may I please you today?’

‘You cannot please me. Go get me a salad.’

‘Yes, Beauty. It is my honor.’

‘Yes, it is. Don’t forget that.’

The tide is rolling in, Kendra. Nap time is over.

She groans. Why are you so perky? Have a good nap?

Um, no.

Oh, right. You don’t sleep anymore.

We need to go. Display time. I point my index finger, and a small holograph springs to life in front of us. It comes from my rose quartz CNI—crystal nail-bed implant—the biotechnology that replaced external devices many years ago.

You know you don’t have to speak your command out loud. It’ll load whatever you want with just a thought command.

I know. I just forget. It seems so unnatural.

It is unnatural. But that’s how it works, Kendra reminds me.

I suppose if I grew up with a crystal shoved in my nail-bed like everyone else, it wouldn’t bother me so much. I swear I feel it growing sometimes.

It’s possible the implant is still adjusting to your biology.

It’s been almost three years, I say.

Maybe you’re still growing.

Great. Let’s go. We’re going to get our butts kicked if we’re late.

Bye-bye, O.B. See you soon! Kendra’s voice bounces off the back of the cove and silences the seabirds.

Aren’t you powerful?

That’s nothing… She hops up and runs toward the water. I follow her.

The ocean is warm and inviting and lends me the welcome sensation of coming home. Once we navigate the treacherous outcroppings of Our Beach and push past the currents, we turn into a narrow inlet flanking the cliffside. Rounding a bend into the mouth of another sheltered, rocky cove, we weave our way through an isolated turquoise reef. Running parallel to the reef, the sheer rock walls are dotted with dozens of small dark caves. This entire area is untouched and pristine, and it is my favorite part of our long swim.

Nerissa! Kendra is twenty yards ahead of me.

What?

C’mon, no time for sightseeing, Doll. We’re going to be late.

Coming.

We reach the other end of the sheltered reef and push our way into the now deep, foreboding water. We swim fast, without pause, for quite a while before a quick rest. The swells here are incredibly large and move us a tremendous distance. If we stay here too long, the ocean could capture us and end our lovely day by slamming us into the cliff walls.

Let’s go.

Another mile, and I spot the entry point where the cliffs end and the land continues to the east. Neither of us need to stop. We could continue all the way around the island, but someone might see us coming from where swimming is dangerous, humanly-impossible, and against the law. We need to get out right here. But our trek isn’t over.

After you, Beauty… I offer my most gracious and condescending island etiquette.

Please, you first, Beauty. I insist. Kendra extends an arm. I accept her gesture, rise out of the water, and step onto the landing.

We gather our belongings from under a pine tree and dress. We have a hike and another long swim ahead of us. And we’re running late.

We climb the steep path to the top of the ridge. I’m not disappointed by what I anticipate as we clear the last few yards. From our vantage point, hidden in the trees, almost the entire island is visible. We only have seconds to pause. My eyes dart to the left and begin the sweep of the incomparable panorama.

The mountain Apollo rises in the dark rocky west, standing sentinel over the restricted base of the Panacea Island Branch of the First World Government. Just below lie the sweeping hills of the luxury sector, where the wealthiest call home for the summer Season. The opulent resorts sprawl along the north coast and glimmer in the brilliant sunshine. I shudder as my eyes float past Concordia on the Bay, my place of employment.

To the east lies the marina, where a spectacle of yachts bob in the cobalt water. Most of them never leave their moorings for fear of joining the hundreds of shipwrecks off every coast. They’re floating showpieces, or just a place to throw an amazing party. Past the marina, the island’s only public beach, Playa Rosa, stretches out—a billion glittering diamonds glowing rosy-beige.

This island never ceases to impress me. As required, I’m well educated in human history, and I know that Panacea is one of the last of its kind. It juts out of the ocean like a jagged monolith with a softened edge. Harsh and unyielding, lush and fragile. This island is a case study in contradictions—a terrible Beauty.

South of the resort section and dotted throughout the hillside lives the island’s year-round population, some of us native, some transplants from elsewhere. The house my mother and I were assigned is beautiful but way too big for just the two of us. Half the rooms are never used. Kendra and I have lived in the Oval—four concentric streets wrapping around a main road—for almost three years. It still feels like we’re just visiting sometimes.

We begin jogging, and as we fall into a comfortable and steady clip, I zone out. I enjoy running, despite my inept feet.

We pass through the last section of thick forest and begin a steep descent, where the dark soil transitions to sand and we’re no longer hidden by the trees. The deep green hues of the forest turn into the lime-green pop of the cacti and other tropical and medicinal plants.

Finally, Kendra huffs as we step onto the road.

I like it in there. I scan both directions. All clear.

We walk down the road as though we’re coming from the Oval and eventually make our way to Playa Rosa. The beach is set up for the Season—the sand clean and raked, umbrella and chair rental stations stocked and ready—but it’s still uncrowded. We’ll have to be extra careful.

Usual spot? Kendra points.

Yep.

Just another day at the beach.

Do you see Gabriel anywhere? I whisper.

She doesn’t even look up. Nope. The old man is probably off somewhere getting high.

Keep your voice down.

Oh, relax, Nerissa. Nobody’s looking at us.

But the truth is, everybody is always looking at us. Especially when there’s just a sprinkling of people. It’s much easier to blend in and go unnoticed when the beach is crowded with rich, beautiful tourists. The richer they are, the more beautiful they can afford to be, and we don’t stand out as much.

We park ourselves at the only remaining lifeguard stand. It was decided that the others block the view and cheapen the beach, so they were removed. This one will be manned, inconsistently, during the busiest part of the peak season. For now, a small, red-lettered sign reads: DO NOT CROSS SWIM BOUNDARIES—NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY—SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK. There’s nothing like luxuriating in a little inconvenient drowning every once in a while. Whatever. Let these idiots work it out.

No one is too close, and we can take off our shoes. It’s magical. Our clothes are next, and now I feel the eyes on every inch of my body. I imagine the disgusting thoughts racing through lustful minds.

Would you please relax? We’ve done this a million times, Kendra says.

I know. I sigh. But we’re in a hurry, and I just don’t want to be stupid.

I don’t see anyone staring. But I did spot Gabriel.

Where? I search.

Be cool. We’ll hear him soon. He’s seen us.

Oh, I see him.

Just like clockwork, predictable and dependable, Gabriel, our breed’s one true ally, has appeared up the beach.

How old do you think Gabriel is? Kendra asks. About a hundred and fifty? I can see his wrinkles from here.

Stop it. Poor guy. But Kendra is right. Even from here, his dark skin looks so weathered, his long curly hair grayer than ever. But although old and slight, he still stands straight and walks with strength. I’m so grateful for Gabriel. Without him, we’d be lost.

A random face catches my eye. He’s perched at the edge of his chair fifteen feet ahead of Gabriel. Our eyes meet and lock, just for a second. He puts his head down and scribbles something in a small book, then looks at me again, still and expressionless.

Ice-cold drinks, here! Gabriel’s voice breaks the warped moment. I wonder if he noticed my random exchange with this curious stranger. His timing is impeccable.

That’s our cue, Nerissa.

We ease into the water. There’s a handful of people, two on floats, three teenagers playing a game of catch, and a family with two young kids. We’ve gone as unnoticed as possible.

Back at the chairs, Gabriel continues his reverie, his iconic voice known by everyone. Ice-cold drinks, here, folks. I’ve got the temptations, the libations, the medications and creations for your ultimate vacation… ha-ha-ha! He spills his contagious laughter into the air and infects the crowd. I’ve got the antibiotic for your anti-chaotic. The formulations for your relaxation. Ha-ha-ha!

He’s got everyone’s attention, the promise of a refreshing tropical drink in their immediate futures. They’re hanging on his every nuance as he delivers the code phrase. Have I got a deal for you, folks. Ha-ha-ha!

We slip under the ropes, and just like that, poof! We’re gone.

Chapter 3

Albatross

THE FOLLY OF RICH MEN IS CRUEL AND RUNS DEEP.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 29 TH

By the time we need to come up for air, we’re well out of sight. With only a second to breathe, we have to make up for lost time. But the water is deceptive and dangerous. This is the place that separates us from the humans.

Access to both of Panacea’s daughter islands, Albatross and Black Rock to the west, is restricted. And people comply. Most believe the islands to be nothing more than uninhabitable, dangerous shards of rock, where countless people have lost their lives to shipwrecks of one kind or another in the furious and unpredictable waters. For the most part, their fears are justified.

For us, entry onto Albatross from the south side is forbidden. The terrain is sharp and un-level, posing great risk of injury. It’s also possible, however remote, to be spotted from Panacea with high-powered binoculars. We must swim around.

We round the final turn on the northeast side and come up for one last breath. It’s possible to get out here, climb up, and walk the rest of the way, but it’s not ideal. The terrain is still challenging, and no one is excused from being late to a ceremony. We’ll enter the arena from below, through the underwater caves.

What’s the problem, old lady? Kendra notices my labored breath.

Just a little tired, aren’t you?

Nope. Not at all. She’s lying.

First one with their feet on the ground wins. Loser gets to explain if we’re late. Deal?

Be prepared to lose, she says.

We dive under. Kendra quickly reminds me why she can justify being such a smartass by putting a sizable distance between us. This is also where I’m reminded I need to stop complaining about our feet. The fusion between her toes—another original design element that helps us swim more efficiently—is more pronounced than most, and as a consequence, she’s fast. I can’t beat her.

We enter the dark, narrow in-tube, and the current works against us. We have to proceed one by one, which seals the fate of this race. Just when the tube becomes disorienting with its dizzying twists and turns, it opens into a dimly lit chamber called the Hub, where we can come up for air one last time. This is the intersection connecting all the legendary underwater caves of Albatross.

The caves are the birthplace of age-old myth, beautifully grim fairy tales, and old island lore. They are both feared and revered in the minds of opportunistic men. But the stories are old and for the most part unproven. Most believe the tales of the caves—giving otherwise impossible access to shipwrecks bearing untold treasures, specialized creatures, and a mysterious sea plant called Wreckleaf—to be complete fantasy. Between the dangers and the restrictions, the temptation to prove otherwise is minimal.

To our right lies the passageway we need, leading to the indoor-outdoor arena, where ceremonies are held. We each grab a breath before gliding into the wider surrounding. To my surprise, we’re side by side. Kendra must have slowed for a second too long at the Hub. She notices and pushes harder. I can see the light through the water from here. Forty yards … thirty, I pass her. Fifteen, five … I reach the opening and launch myself. The moment slows, and I feel her body even with mine. Almost. I hit the ground hard, Kendra landing on me. We roll in a tangled, breathless mess, and I force the words I never imagined I’d speak.

I win!

She groans.

Triumph is mine, Doll, I yell in her face.

You got lucky, she hisses.

She lifts her head and peers over me. Her eyes grow wide, and my stomach drops as I realize what she sees. My mother, the Matriarch Tatiana, has appeared at the front of the arena.

We’re on our feet and running. The ground is rocky, uneven, and slick. Feet, don’t fail me now. We flounder and slip into the arena, and everyone turns to see what the commotion is about. There’s nowhere to hide as we both struggle for composure, bent over from exhaustion. My guilt and shame rise in a deep flush, disapproval burning into me.

Thank you for joining us, Nerissa, Kendra. Please take your seats quickly. We have no choice but to sit in the front row. We settle on the stone bench without haste.

Welcome everyone, my mother begins, and the arena goes silent. We are, of course, here today to honor Lillian, who I am pleased to confirm is pregnant, far ahead of schedule. The arena coos. She breathes it in, closes her eyes, and lifts her arms high and wide.

My mother is in her element. At her side is Kendra’s mother, Matriarch Giovanni. Atop each of their heads is an ornate wreath of sea grass and coral—a crown of sorts—adorning their ginger and auburn hair, respectively.

She opens her eyes and sweeps the arena with a gaze that seems to collect a piece of each of us. She exhales hard. Like this, I see my mother as I imagine the others do.

As you all know, ours is a breed that has lived through much pain and difficulty. Let us not forget from where we have come.

I hate this part.

The folly of rich men is cruel and runs deep. Our ancestors were created by such men. And as the temporary playthings we were designed to be, most of our ancestors were disposed of when man was done with them. But with true Dolhuphemale determination and spirit, the strongest few survived.

Okay, Mother, we all know the story. Let’s get on with it. But when I look around, I’m struck by everyone’s emotions. Even Kendra’s eyes threaten to spill over.

The perfected techniques of scouting the best-suited mate, enchanting and subduing the Contributor, and the mating ritual of acquisition itself have become our greatest assets. Yet although we’ve evolved these adaptations over many generations, we still find ourselves limited by our original design. Even our singular ability to harvest our beloved Wreckleaf and utilize its medicinal properties to assist with enchantment is not enough. Until one of us produces male offspring, we will remain dependent on mankind.

Therefore, Giovanni says, embellishing my mother’s sentiment with her softer, cooler tone, the continuation of our existence rests in the hands and the hearts of our youth.

Mankind has proven he cannot be trusted, my mother continues. We must all do our part to ensure our independence. So while we’ll continue to live by their rules…

Like we have a choice!

…we will also follow in Lillian’s footsteps, as she has followed in many others’ before her.

Total silence, as everyone seems to hold their breath.

We must not rely on the FWG to supply selected Contributors to us. We must continue to choose our own, Giovanni adds.

Now, it is with great pleasure that we present Lillian, bearing the fruit of her young.

The arena explodes.

I play along, clap, and smile brightly. I accept an elder’s warm pat on my back and hopeful glance for my own future. I join in this joyous celebration alongside my best friend, even while I feel the knot growing in my stomach, just like it always does after my mother’s absurd, cosmetic speech. It’s like none of us are worth anything unless we’re producing offspring, or planning it, or dreaming of it. I’m like a prostitute. We all are. My only accepted payment is nothing less than life itself.

Everyone, please… My mother waits for us to quiet down. Turn your attention to Lillian. Allow her to be your teacher, especially those of you coming of age. Peak season is upon us. She retreats to the chair behind Lillian, folds her hands in her lap, and turns toward the honoree. Lillian, the arena is yours.

Here we go, Kendra whispers in my ear. I almost forgot she was there. I cannot believe this suck-up is in the chair. She’s going to lay it on thick.

The chair is the highest place of honor in which one can find herself. Confirmed pregnant, even before the start of the summer season, Lillian sits in the chair like an ethereal princess.

Every eye is fixed upon her as she brushes a cinnamon wisp from her face and adjusts the ceremonial crown. It’s supposed to be a symbol of accomplishment and fulfilled purpose. But to me, it’s more a crown of thorns.

Lilian parts her lips and hesitates, as though her next words hinge together our existence. I am honored beyond words to be sitting in this sacred chair, speaking to all of you.

Not a sound.

As taught by our wise and gifted Matriarchs and elders, I began scouting just after my eighteenth birthday. I must admit, she giggles, I was a little nervous.

Kendra lets out a tiny snort. I pinch her leg hard.

So… in exchange for his help with finding me the most suitable Contributors to scout, Lillian continues, it was time to bring my payment of Wreckleaf to Gabriel. I think he smokes a little too much dried Wreckleaf for his own good, because we all know he can be a little difficult. But I was able to handle him without any problems.

One moment, please, Lillian. If I may… My mother stands and interrupts little Miss Perfect.

Oh, of course, Lillian stutters, not expecting to be cut off.

I am unaware of any difficulties with Gabriel. She looks directly at Lillian. Let us remember that he has proven himself to be the greatest ally our breed has ever known. Without Gabriel, maintaining our practices undetected while honoring the Cooperative would be extremely difficult, if not impossible.

Yes, agrees Giovanni. Without his assistance, we would be at the complete mercy of the FWG.

He hates those bastards, too, Lillian. Give the man his stash and the time of day, and he’ll purr like a kitten and do cartwheels for you.

Do not be so quick to judge Gabriel, my mother instructs. He, too, has endured a troubled past at the hands of the FWG. He’s on our side, and when treated with the respect he deserves, will be nothing but helpful. She pauses for effect. Lillian, you may continue.

As Lillian goes on with her tale of self-importance, my mind wanders.

I was a child the first time I met Gabriel. Our breed’s survival was unconfirmed, but tall tales of our existence had been told for decades, since the Elimination Program brought nearly two dozen complex species to extinction once our novelty wore off and our creators were done with us. I always thought it should be called exactly what it was—the Horrific Mass Execution of the Innocent.

My mother had brought me to Panacea. The swim strengthened our skills early, and learning the art of blending in with the pure-humans was invaluable. When we arrived at the river, a lone man stood fishing off the slick green banks. He didn’t seem to notice us. We went about our business, pretending to be tourists exploring the island and enjoying our day as we played in the warm water. I laughed as my mother tossed me up in the air, landing with a bigger splash each time. The last time she